


I Am Who You Desire

by sabriel75



Series: what I haven't written yet meme [6]
Category: A Room With a View - All Media Types
Genre: Bodyswap, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dominance, F/M, Female Character In Command, French Kissing, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/pseuds/sabriel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lucy has explored and acted upon many of her desires with George, but one day a suit strikes her fancy and she dreams a little bigger.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Who You Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nympha_Alba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/gifts), [amo_amare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amo_amare/gifts).



> I did not expect this story to get so out of hand, especially in the erotic bits. However, I do believe Lucy and George with all their passions would be quite kinky if given the chance to be. They'd want to explore each other and know each other inside and out, not being satisfied with the superficiality of marriage in that age.
> 
> Of course, the dominating part of Lucy's personality I drew from how she plays the piano. She needs an outlet and when she wants to find release, when she seeks out the piano for release it is full of passion, exuberance and force, but brilliant too.
> 
> Hope you like. This is my first time writing body swap.

The intimate act cannot be described with words. Lucy just cannot. She really likes doing it, maybe even loves everything about having it, but there’s enough of the prim, proper Edwardian miss in her that she cannot quite voice these thoughts.

However, she frequently mutters during the act, loads of stuff. Confessions that spur her gloriously naked husband into filthy, filthy – lewd even – actions and she cannot help herself when she chases after him, chases him down after each time taking what she wants too and reveling in how easily they are consumed by these precious moments.

Because her husband – George Emerson – is so, so glorious and whenever he is naked; she only knows desire, such an extreme thing in all her passions. When she touches him, letting her passions run wild; along with her fingers, hands and tongue she shapes him to her, positions him and studies him. 

Lord have mercy if anyone finds her sketchbooks, brimming with charcoal sketches of all the ways she can take him, manage him this way or that in bed and best manipulate him in every way for the pleasure she finds in him. Her interest in every aspect of the male anatomy too keen not to be documented, over and over again in efforts to catch how perfect of a specimen George is.

So when George walks out in his new tailored suit, fitted and smart, and models for her by walking about the house’s foyer, she’s surprised by the sharp stab of lust and how wet she feels, ready to be taken just by watching him. She wants to drag him back to their cozy room with a view and rut up against him, ride him with his shirt open and his trousers and pants tangled about his knees.

She sputters as he looks at her with intent, as if reading her naughty thoughts. Her teeth bite into her lower lip and she finally gives in. “Race you back to our rooms.” George catches her at the mid-floor stairs landing, grabbing her from behind and swinging her into his arms bride-style to run the rest of the way with them fitted together just so.

The debauchery they get up to spurs on her dreams later. 

She’s dressed in a tailored suit in one dream, charcoal gray with starchy white shirt underneath unbuttoned at the neck. Her tie hangs loose and she’s sprawled on the leather love seat in the parlor. Their one lavish purchase after the elopement. Her legs splayed open like men are allowed when smoking and she holds a tumbler of gin in the one hand hanging over the arm of the chair. She smiles wide when George sees her. He’s astonished by her costume and pleased because he carries himself like a predator and the heat in his eyes pin her. She doesn’t squirm or twitch like she’s wont to do.

George takes her from behind, hands bound by her tie and trousers flapping about her thighs with each forceful thrust. She cries out, screams and for once is not able to keep herself to quiet mutterings and wakes up to George above her, peering down curiously, “You’re feverish. Are you feeling alright?”

She flushes even more when his hands frame her rosy cheeks and then her throat before roaming about her bare stomach, slipping lower until two fingers slip inside her. “Ah. The dreams were good then?” George asks conspiratorially. 

She nods and lets him have his wicked way with her again. He has to work late tomorrow but she craves him too much to put off their coupling even for much-needed sleep.

Too early and too soon, George, with lazy diffidence, slips out of bed and gets ready for work. His kiss, soft, against her forehead accompanies, “I’ll be home late. Will you wait up?”

Lucy sleepily agrees before burrowing back under the blankets. Her head heavy on the pillows, she realizes some guilt over sending her husband off for the day without any rest. She plans to call after George, offer him a farewell kiss of apology but before she can drum up the energy, she falls asleep.

The dream this time – she knows it’s a dream because while the supernatural still fascinates society, it’s losing its appeal in the face of the industrial movement – the dream lets her see herself through George’s eyes. She’s confined in his body and he in hers. He kisses the same though. She can tell it is him, even though her own plush lips are now being manipulated by George, they are as tender as usual. 

She does notice how George lets her, in his body forcefully push her against the wall, to crowd her and rut madly against him. Her head thuds backwards and she hears herself moan, loud and she, with George’s long legs and wider hips thrust back just as needy. She is aggressive like this, tearing her clothes off, because she wants to see herself. See if she’s as glorious naked as she finds George and she does and nips and teases her own nipple while George begs and pleads for more with her voice. 

Lucy gives herself over to the experience, putting a hand down her trousers to feel how silky smooth she – no… George is – and how hot and swollen she’s made him. And then she can barely contain herself with just stroking George off against herself, hastily unfastening her underclothes on George as George with her own nimble fingers frees himself and gives his own cock a few pulls, then pulls it up and allows her to guide it in, inside her. 

She wishes the experience were real, because it feels amazing dominating like this; feeling George give over all control of himself to her. She holds him steady when he goes lax and cries out with her voice and comes, nearly sliding down the wall but for the strength Lucy has with George’s arms holding them both up. She finishes with four, five maybe six more thrusts, hard and deep, and she doesn’t want to come but does by the sheer overwhelming sensation of newness and urges of affection, adoration and lust still swirling around her and George. The bodies containing them not diminishing their love for each other in any way.

When she wakes, her hand strays between her legs and she brings herself to completion with her fingers. George taught her early on how to do this and revels over how much of an exhibitionist she can be as she performs for herself this way. It incites her to action, to a plan she wants to execute and leads to very naughty thoughts she thinks will please George immensely.

The sun has set, and she only lights a few lamps here and there throughout the cottage. She puts out some cheese, fruit and wine on a tray in their parlor and goes to dress. George walks in just as she lights up the cigarette. 

She's banded her hair tightly at her nape and it's slicked back with George’s own hair grease. He smiles at her, and the trousers are much too baggy and long. She’s rolled them up like George does at the seaside so her ankles and shapely calves are shown to their best advantage and the perusal George gives them means she succeeded in that respect. He wants her like this, in men’s clothing, and she walks over to him, strides manly and he grabs her tight. He hugs her and his tongue suddenly finds it way into her mouth and they’re burning up against each other. 

“Hello luv,” Lucy says cheeky and low, and George pinches her bottom while herding her to the food. He has to be starving and she allows it. He flops on the love seat, pulling her to him and popping a grape into her mouth. As she chews, momentarily still, George whispers in her ear, “You’re divine, a goddess among women and my first earnings shall go directly to dressing you properly. My personal tailor will love you.”


End file.
